Happy Noodle Year

When I first met my husband, he was not initiated in the ways of the Jewish princess. He had a lot to learn, but it was mostly about family and holidays and food. For me, Jewishness is more of an ethnicity, a heritage in the way that someone is Italian or Hungarian. Most of us come from a people about whom a funny movie could be made; My Big Fat Greek Wedding is just as easily about the Turkish or Irish or Jewish.

All talk of Zionism and anti-Semitism and war and even religion aside, I’m proud to be Jewish for the important reasons: family, education, history, strength, and food.

Friday is Rosh Hashanah. Dinner is usually brisket—which isn’t dry and stringy when your Jewish grandmother is a terrific cook—and and sweet things: apples in honey, mandel bread, and kugel. When I first met Marty, he called it COO-gle. Whatever you call it, it’s delicious. Hardly any variation tastes bad.

These instructions are taken from a card in my Grammy’s hand; in some places, I kept her instructions intact. When my grandmother died, my aunt inherited nearly all of her hand-written recipe cards; no one is sure why, since my sister and I were more sure to follow in her footsteps and make these goodies. But there’s no room for sour grapes on the Jewish new year, only sweet ones.

Noodle Kugel

Ingredients
1/2 lb. wide noodles
1 stick of butter, divided
1 C light golden raisins
3/4-1 C sugar
1 stick of butter
1 t vanilla
1 can apple pie filling
1 C sour cream
5 l eggs

Instructions
1. Preheat oven to 350° for metal pan, 325° for glass.
2. Boil noodles until soft; drain, and return to pot.
3. Add 3/4 stick of butter and all the ingredients except eggs.
4. “beat eggs in apple can + add to mixture”; mix well.
5. “grease long pan. Pour in.”
6. “cut up remaining butter in pieces and put on top.”
7. Bake for 45-60 minutes, “longer if necessary.”


My favorite thing about Judaism, though, is getting two starts to the new year. All the things I’ve screwed up in January are suddenly forgiven. And once school has started anew, and the air is full of delicious smells of burning leaves and morning dew, I’m better able to find my niche among the nooks and crannies of my life.

Happy New Year!

Tomatoland

The end of the summer finds gardens in a hurry, as if our basil and squash know this month is their last on earth. Some of them return as volunteers next year—surprises that, unmaintained, will yield a fistful of grape tomatoes sometimes even before your planned crop has set fruit.

My tomatoes are ecstatic. The ground below them hosts my daughter's favorite dog, a couple of birds, and a long-lived goldfish—a recent addition. I'd swear those well-loved souls tend our plants better than I do, though my husband helps them along with his Man Facing Northwest, a long daily meditation with hose.

I recently brought in a bowlful of a grape variety called Juliet, which are far too big for salads; they are smaller than a Roma but bigger than a cherry, and they're just not as sweet as I like my grapes. I had decided to make the quick version of sundried tomatoes (slice them in half lengthwise, lay them on a cooling rack, salt them, and place them in a low oven (180°) for about eight to twelve hours), but my husband talked me out of that idea. Sundried tomatoes may be expensive, but the energy to bake them is probably moreso. (Truth is I haven't had eight hours at home without him, or I'd have done it by now.)

A few of the Better Boys (they're big and beefy and sweet) have escaped my notice in the forest of tomato greenery, and they've plopped to the ground below, heavy with overripeness. But we salvaged a few of them today, many of them with deep splits and gashes but without the bugs usually attracted to them.

It's always to our delight that we revisit Tomatoland. In the coming weeks, we'll have homemade chili, spaghetti sauce, and/or Kitchen Shack-atoré (our daughter's baby pronunciation of Chicken Cacciatoré). And there will be thick sourdough sandwiches of sliced tomato, a thin smear of mayo, and three strips of just-done bacon (I hate it dry, but wet doesn't work on BLTs).

But tonight, it's our favorite of them all: pizza bread. Always trying to keep my carb count low, I put mine on a low-carb wrap. So many grocers are carrying them in so many different brands, and they get better all the time. (They get soggy, though, so you have to toast them in a pan.) The rest of the clan uses sourdough bread, which we usually have on hand.

Ingredients

a loaf bread
butter or olive oil
some ripe tomatoes
sprinkle of salt and pepper
handful of grated Parmesan cheese
pinch of garlic powder
pinch of oregano
pinch of basil

Instructions

There's no way to write a recipe this casual using exact measurements. This is fun in the kitchen. Make it your way.

1. Preheat the oven to 180°.
2. Slice the tomatoes and the bread thin.
3. Drizzle some olive oil or smear butter (my husband's preference) on the sliced bread.
4. Lay the tomatoes on top. Cover the bread, but don't overlap tomatoes.
5. Salt and pepper the tomatoes to taste. (I don't do pepper.)
6. Throw on some cheese.
7. Toss a pinch of garlic powder, oregano, and basil (more basil than oregano, and forget about the fresh; you're not cooking this stuff long enough).
8. Bake in the oven about 10 minutes, or until the cheese is melted.

Of course, there are many ways to make pizza bread. You can even put your tomatoes on a store-bought pizza crust, toss on mozzarella and Jack cheeses, add some pepperoni. But why? Your garden is here to make your life easier, not send you shopping for extras. You have bread. You have olive oil. You have the basic spices. Live like a happy peasant.

Ahhhhh-vocado

The avocado is a fruit. Many people in the states are unused to this fact and so prepare it in mostly savory dishes. And there's nothing wrong with preserving its purity by mashing it into guacamole or adding a few firm wedges to your salad. After all, the tomato's a fruit, too, but you don't see the diners around town serving hot tomato pie ala mode.

Still, the avocado's creaminess lends itself to use in desserts. In the Philippines, avocado is blended with sugar and milk for a dessert beverage. In Brazil, it's added to ice cream. In my house, it's used in both: blended with soy milk, vanilla, sweeteners, and crushed ice; and stirred into cream and eggs and then frozen. Perhaps we fear the alligator pear for its high-fat content. But one ounce (one-fifth) has about 55 calories and over 25 important nutrients, including fiber, potassium, Vitamin E, B Vitamins, folic acid, lutein, phytochemicals, and beta-sitosterol (whatever it is you can bet it’s good for you!). It has monounsaturated fat and no cholesterol.

This recipe for avocado ice cream is from a low-carb food forum. In my recipe, "sweeteners" refers to half Splenda, half xylitol. You may substitute sugar in equal quantities.

Ingredients
2 egg yolks
2 C heavy cream
1 C sweeteners of choice
1/2 t salt
1/2 t vanilla extract
2 ripe avocados
1/2 t almond extract
1 t lemon juice (opt.)

Instructions
Over low heat until slightly thickened, heat egg yolks, cream, and sweeteners. Add salt and vanilla. Cool in refrigerator.

In a separate bowl, mash avocados 'til smooth, then add 2/3 cup remaining sweeteners, more to taste, almond extract, and lemon juice, if adding (I didn't use it; the color was perfect).

Mix the mash with the cream, and freeze according to your ice cream freezer's instructions.

The avocado is, to quote Linda Richman, "like buttah," so, if you'd prefer, light cream can be substituted for heavy, or you can add a little milk to the whole recipe to tone down the flavor, if you are less comfortable with the idea of sweet avocado.

I leave you with a haiku couplet about my two favorite fruits.

hidden fruit

ebon pebbled skin
protecting sweet butter flesh:
ripe avocado

ugly coconut,
you too pretend to be in-
edible. Liar!

To learn more about the avocado, visit avocado.org. But try the ice cream before summer is gone.